Jack Rolph

Jack Rolph Poems

1.

On this beaten, barren shore,
we are as birds of a feather;
ravaged by the endless swells,
we stand and flock together.
...

I reach through the shadows of a kitchen,
groping the air for the friend I need.
I touch your neck, cold on my skin:
my lifeline as my spirit bleeds.
...

I look back over the years that grow ever distant
and I remember when I was told by a man greater than I:
'Tis better to have loved and lost,
Than never to have loved at all.'
...

5.

I can see the width and breadth of the world
yet I bury my head in the sand,
...

Some believe a place of peace exists upon this earth,
A place of ruined temples and splendour lost to time;
of gilded arches, marbled streets and sincere, solemn prayer
spoken of with nostalgia or embalmed in rhyme.
...

We do not claim to be so wise
as to question kings that rise,
for we are meek before the sword
that carves the will of its grand lord,
...

When the the purest virtue has coalesced with purest sin;
when the unbroken spirit may no longer stand so tall;
when all the hallowed grounds have been left to rot away
and the demons of the night are as the demons of the day,
...

I shall always smile when reminded that I'm free
to share my thoughts with others who might share their thoughts with me;
that I may learn to understand to understand and learn;
that I may yield my knowledge and then seek it in return;
...

Jack Rolph Biography

I'm not really a literary person. I don't really enjoy reading prose or poetry. I do like writing it though.)

The Best Poem Of Jack Rolph

Birds

On this beaten, barren shore,
we are as birds of a feather;
ravaged by the endless swells,
we stand and flock together.

Some of us, try as they might,
shall never once take wing;
doomed before they left the egg,
they plunge to the dirge we sing.

A few shall soar above their kin
and rise to the heavens, like flame:
we trill our praise, their wing beat stills
and they plummet, all the same.

Most will stand and wait ashore
and caw their discontent;
each cry that adds to the tumult
a tale of failed ascent.

Do what we will, have we no choice
but to do what we will do?

Hear the anguish in our cries:
our screeches as we question why,
from those who fail before they try
to those who scrape the stars on high,
it is that birds may only fly
when we must all fall from the sky.

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